One of Those Days
by GrimmSen10
Summary: COMPLETE When one of those days comes upon you, there is no escaping its vicelike grip. You must simply survive it, hopefully coming out of it that much better off.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own the character's from Harry Potter. People you don't recognize are figments of my imagination. Everything else, other than plot (which is mine) belongs to JK Rowling.

**Author's Note:** I sat down at the computer today and started typing. This is one came out of it. It was just a story that had been nagging me for a while and I had to get it down. I'm not sure how much I like it yet, I'm still deciding, but I don't think it's that horrible.

Anyway, let me know what you think about it. Please, no flames, though. Constructive criticism good. . .flames bad.

**One of those days**

**by poeticsoul322 **

One of those days. You know the type. Every little thing that could possibly go wrong, does and each little mishap just piles right on top of the next until those little problems become big ones. Around every corner is an upset waiting to happen, through every door – an unwelcome surprise. That which you dread the most seems to find its way into your routine and is virtually inescapable. The smallest thing triggers the unhappiest of memories. You go to work and your boss is on your tail about the most obscure thing imaginable, so you head home. Once there, you struggle to find solace in a small, rundown flat with a pile of unpaid bills reaching devastating heights, only to fail miserably. When one of those days comes upon you, there is no escaping its vice-like grip. You must simply survive it, hopefully coming out of it that much better off.  
  
Unfortunately, not everybody is strong enough to withstand one of these days. Those who've suffered many of them in succession or those who have just had a bad way of things are likely to succumb to its tortures - allowing the pile-up of unfortunate events and circumstances to permeate their existence. These people – a remarkably high percentage of the human race – go about daily, wishing death or good fortune upon themselves; whichever is quicker and less painful a process to achieve.  
  
These people walk around as figures trapped by their own inner demons; their arch nemesis turns out to be, more often than not, themselves. That old cliché about "you are your own worst enemy" proves true in most cases. Though most people don't realize it, they put more pressure on themselves for perfection in every aspect of their lives than anybody else ever possibly could. We demand more of ourselves than most of us could possibly achieve in one lifetime and then feel like failures when unable to reach the unattainable goals we've set for ourselves.  
  
I am a man, excuse me, wizard who knows all about having "one of those days". As a matter of fact, the past years of my life has been one of those days. After the final battle when "golden boy" Potter defeated Voldemort, I needed to disappear, to get away from all that I had grown to know, to love. I changed not only my appearance, but my identity as well. My entire lifestyle, once purely magical, had become strictly muggle.  
  
Draco Malfoy, for all intents and purposes, was dead. Caleb Ryan, however, was born on the day of Draco's disappearance. You could call me Caleb, you could call me Ryan...most just called me Ryan. Muggles seemed to be keen on calling each other by their surnames, like I, err, I mean Draco, used to do with the "golden trio" back at Hogwarts. Those were the days when the Slytherin-Gryffindor feud seemed to take precedence over all else. My, those days seemed so far away now. It's almost as if, looking back, none of it was real. It's like it was all just a dream – a sometimes horrid, gut wrenching dream filled with hatred, discovery, change, friendships, unbreakable bonds, and even love. Love for a person I could have never imagined falling for. A person who was so tender, so . . . um, let's not dwell on that part of the past now, alright?  
  
Anyway, like I said, after the final battle I had to get away. I gave up everything I had ever worked for, every gift I'd ever been given. I even gave up the honor I had achieved during the war. I had to. There was no other option for me. It was either run, or endanger her life. I couldn't do that. She meant too much to me. As long as Lucius Malfoy believed his son to be dead, then she was safe. And so was her child, my child. They searched for Draco for over a year, I know that much, before they quit trying. They accepted the "death" of Draco Malfoy, even erecting a small tombstone in his honor with a small inscription reading, "A man who proved it possible to rewrite destiny". They never found Draco Malfoy. As I said, Draco was dead. . . Caleb, however, lived on.  
  
I fled the Wizarding world completely, changing my name to Caleb P. Ryan. My once silver-blond locks had been magically changed to a dark, dusty brown. I'd gotten a pair of muggle contact lenses to change the color of my eyes – they were too recognizable if left grey – to a pale blue. I got an ear pierced, something Draco never would have done and had cut my hair very short, in an almost military-like buzz. I hardly even recognized myself when looking in the mirror; I doubted anybody from my old life would either.  
  
When I left for muggle London, I started from scratch, with no money what- so-ever. If I'd cleared out my vault at Gringott's, it would have been a bit suspicious, so I had no other choice. I left with only the clothes on my back and a small knapsack filled with a bit of food, my wand, and magical papers authorizing my new identity – a birth certificate, work records, medical and school reports – those things necessary for me to find work. With my falsified records, I was able to find a job within the London P.D., working as a detective – a position I'd held for close to two and a half years. I liked the job very much, but I found it hard to enjoy at times when I was yearning for her and for my child.  
  
I'd check in on them sometimes, using the mirror she gave me before the war. It was a magical mirror that allowed you to see whatever it was you wanted to see – whoever it was. I'd try not to look too often, so as not to spark the lingering need to return to them. Sometimes, though, I just couldn't help myself. I'd sit in my small, dusty little flat and I couldn't stop thinking about them, so I'd bring the mirror down from its place, high in my closet. I'd only allow myself a short glimpse to protect myself from the immense feeling of pain and regret at leaving them.  
  
The last time I'd looked, I couldn't tear my eyes away. My child – my son, had grown so much. He'd been almost five years old and he looked just like me, well, just like Draco. His shock of white-blond hair and steel eyes were typical Malfoy, though he had his mother's smile, her brains, and her fiery temper. I'd had to learn these things by watching from afar. Unlike other father's, I couldn't sit and play with my son, teaching him about being a man. I watched him on the day that he asked her about me. Afterwards I sat down and I cried. I cried for the first time since I was a small boy and I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't get off of my mind the way he had asked the question and her answer, so tender and something only she could manage to say.  
  
_The small boy, who had been playing with a set of wizard marbles, turned to his mother, a look of determination on his face. He got up from his spot in the garden, brushing of his cargo shorts, and walked straight and sure, to her. She was degnoming the front garden, unaware of her son's advances, until he tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned and reading his expression, sighed heavily.  
  
"Liam, darling, what is it?" She asked him, reaching up and brushing a silver-blond curl away from his face, revealing startling grey eyes that held so much more emotion than any five-year-old should hold.  
  
"Mummy," He started quietly, kicking at a bit of dirt with his foot. Then he looked back up at the woman in front of him, furrowing his brow. He asked in a small voice, with resolve far beyond his years, "Mummy, how come I don't have a daddy, like all of the other children?" She sighed and held her arms open to him, bringing him into her lap. He leaned his head against her shoulder, feeling her chest rise and fall with every breath, knowing even at a young age, how hard this question was for her to answer. After a long moment, she kissed him lightly atop his head and spoke slowly.  
  
"Liam," she started, positioning him in her lap so that they were facing each other. When she looked into his grey eyes, his father's eyes, she felt a stab of longing in her heart. "You do have a daddy. He just, he may not be here to take you to the park or play with you like other daddies, but he will always be right here." She brought his small hand up over his heart. He looked down and smiled lightly.  
  
"In my heart?" He asked.  
  
"Yes, dear, in your heart." She struggled to smile. Then she pulled out a photograph of a tall man with white-blond hair and grey eyes with pale, defined features that she carried with her everywhere. She handed it to the little boy. "That is your daddy." She said. "I want you to have it. And when ever you want to see him, look at this picture. When you want to talk to him, just listen to the beating of your heart. That's him talking back to you, letting you know that he loves you. As long as your heart is beating, you will always have him with you." The little boy looked down at the photograph for a long moment, before turning innocent eyes back to his mother.  
  
"Mummy?"  
  
"What darling?"  
  
"How come he's only in my heart and not here with us?"_  
  
I put the mirror away at that point, unable to watch any more. In that moment, I missed my family more than I ever had before. I almost went to them right then, apparating immediately back into her arms, but I told myself that it wasn't safe. That they were only safe because of my absence, because Lucius believed I was dead. Leaving them was by far the hardest thing I'd ever had to do and I didn't want to have to do it again, or even worse, have them taken away from me by a man I once called my father.  
  
That night, I lay on my bed, staring up at my ceiling, allowing myself for the first time since I'd left the Wizarding world, to think about them. Really think about them. I closed my eyes, remembering the day that she and I had married. She'd looked stunning in her white dress and hair done up in an elegant twist with enchanted rubies placed strategically throughout. I could almost smell her favorite perfume – a mixture of strawberry and melon. I could see her smile and the twinkle in her eye when we stood up in front of loved ones. Then, that night, in our wedding bed, she gave herself to me fully. It had been our first time, for she had wanted to save herself for marriage and it had been even better than I had ever imagined. Just the memory of her touch sent shivers down my spine.  
  
I allowed my mind to drift to our times together, her laughter filling the room. I remembered the night she told me that I would soon be a father and how elated I had felt. I had thrown my arms around her, twirling her around our living room. Then, I let myself remember the day that Liam was born. His pudgy little cheeks and beautiful smile. The sound of his laughter filled my mind and I had been unable to hold back the tears. It was the second time I'd cried in a matter of a few hours and I feared that my tears would run dry, but in a way, it felt good to remember, good to cry. I looked back on the nights I spent, watching Liam sleep soundly in his crib, his small thumb tucked away between his pouted lips. He had a mouth like his mother, slightly pouted, and full.  
  
I don't think I slept at all that night. I just lay remembering our happiness, before the war. I had gone off to fight when Liam was barely a year old and had placed numerous wards and spells on our home to protect them. Potter had defeated the Dark Lord and most of the death eaters had been found and executed, but Lucius Malfoy had escaped, threatening to kill my wife and son. So, I went into hiding, letting everyone believe I had died and to my surprise, it worked. He backed off, left them alone. But I was still convinced that my presence would endanger them, so I stayed away. As I lay in my bed, remembering that night, I thought of something – the only possible solution: I had to kill Lucius Malfoy.  
  
So, the next morning, I left the muggle world behind, going in search of the man who'd stolen so many years from me. I retained my disguise, not wanting to alert him to the fact that I was alive. I searched long and hard, keeping to the shadows, until I found him, tucked away in Malfoy Manor. Somehow, he had gotten in well with the minister (must have paid a hefty sum) and had never been charged. When I found him, he was a weak, sputtering old man. In a pure rage, I killed him.  
  
I remember nothing more than the feeling of hatred surging through my body and the green flash of lightening from the tip of my wand. I remember his screams vividly in my dreams and the look of pure terror on his face. When the aurors arrived, I had been kneeling over his crumpled form, crying out to the heavens and whatever God exists. I cried to save me, to fix everything that had gone amiss. The aurors took me immediately to Azkaban. After all, I had been caught "red handed". There was a trial set for the next day.  
  
During the trial, I sat silent and still, unable to give testimony of innocence. The trial lasted three days and on the last day, I was found guilty and convicted of murder, to be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. All I could think was what a cruel world this was. One that would allow a death eater such as Lucius Malfoy to live and then sentence the man to rid the world of him to death could only be described as cruel. I had three days to think about my upcoming execution – to dread it. Finally, the day came upon me.  
  
As I was being led into the room in which I was to be executed, I caught sight of her. She'd come to watch me die. She sat, her eyes downcast, holding onto the hand of a woman who looked very familiar to me. It only took a moment to realize that it was a Weasley – Ginny Weasley, to be exact. She held onto her old friends hand for dear life as the dementor entered the room. The creature stood off to the side, as the executioner asked me the final question.  
  
"Any last words?"  
  
I thought hard for a moment and then said, looking straight into the eyes of my one true love, "Lucius Malfoy deserved to die. He took a father away from a wonderful woman and son, in fear of their lives. I was only trying to bring him back to them. I" But I was unable to finish. The guard cut me off.  
  
"That's enough!" He snapped, gesturing the dementor forward. All I felt was cold, as the dementor sucked away my life force, my being . . . my soul.  
  
-------------  
  
Hermione turned away as Lucius Malfoy's murderer received the Dementor's Kiss, squeezing Ginny's hand tightly. She didn't know why she wanted to be there for this man's execution, but she had insisted that she be present. Lucius Malfoy had been a man deserving of death and she wanted to see the man brave enough to admit that. When the murderer, they said his name was Caleb Ryan, entered the room, she couldn't help but feel as if she knew him from somewhere, but shook that thought immediately as he was led to the executioner's chair and strapped in. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut as she hid in Ginny's shoulder during the Kiss, but a great gasp rippling through the crowd caused her to look up.  
  
Everyone had their eyes fixed on Caleb Ryan, now soulless. She followed their gaze and nearly fainted in shock. The man's dusty brown hair had turned white-blond and his eyes were now the same steel-grey she saw whenever she looked at her son. Caleb Ryan was none other than Draco Malfoy, her husband, her love. She screamed and sobbed into Ginny's shoulder, unable to contain her sorrow and had to be escorted out by mediwizards and taken home, ordered to bed rest.  
  
For many years to follow, she visited him once a week, always crying herself to sleep when returning home. One night, Liam had asked her why she was so sad and she had promised to show him when he was old enough. When he turned eighteen, Hermione finally told him the truth about his father and he began to make the weekly visits with her. They went together every week, never missing a day, until at the ripe age of one-hundred and seven, Hermione grew very ill and died. Draco died an hour after Hermione had and Liam, though he knew he should be, was not sad at all.  
  
Finally, his parents could be together and they could be happy after waiting an entire lifetime for the opportunity. At his mother and father's funeral, Liam smiled softly, saying simply.  
  
"Think of those years as just "one of those days". Now, you have all of eternity to be together."  
  
And two angels looked down upon their son, smiling and embracing, savoring every second and looking forward to the eternity of happiness they had been denied in living.  
  
_-End- _


End file.
